


The Rise and Fall of the Psychic Girl

by obsidianfae



Series: Two Minds Are Better Than One [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Big Mutant Family, Charles Being Concerned, Charles is a Tease, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empathy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Mild Sexual Content, Mutant Reader, Neck Kissing, Protective Erik, Reader-Insert, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidianfae/pseuds/obsidianfae
Summary: You're an empath still learning to control your powers, and Charles is head-over-heels for you. What happens when you internalize someone's depression as if it were your own and begin to push everyone away?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Temptations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769783) by [thebearking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebearking/pseuds/thebearking). 
  * Inspired by [Imagine Charles reading your mind and discovering your suicidal thoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052926) by [forestofmyown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestofmyown/pseuds/forestofmyown). 



Charles Xavier is the definition of a tease.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere means that by nature, you love being outside. All you need to have a good time is a nice view and something to entertain yourself— which more often than not, ends up being a book of some sort.

Charles, on the other hand, grew up in New York. In a mansion. With servants. And a shapeshifting adopted sister. It’s only natural that the hustle and bustle of it all had a slight effect on him.

He’s in his study with Erik, the two of them exchanging good-natured banter over a game of chess as usual. But rather than laying in the grass with your worn out copy of Catcher in the Rye, you’ve perched yourself beside Charles on the sofa. The recent drop in New York’s temperature didn’t bode well with you, so your activities have been temporarily relocated indoors. You’re leaning on the armrest with a book in your lap and your legs folded up beneath you.

And that’s when you feel it.

Charles, silently asking for permission to your mind. With his mutation being as powerful as it is, it’s not surprising that he needs a great deal of mental stimulation to keep preoccupied. That’s where his affinity for chess comes in, and as of recently, that’s where you come in as well. As two people with telepathic powers, your minds click together like puzzle pieces. You’re nowhere near as strong as Charles is— your powers are mostly limited to sensing emotions— and you haven’t had nearly as much practice as him—you spent a great deal of your childhood isolating yourself from others— but regardless, there’s nothing as comforting as being in the proximity of a similar mind. He could easily access your mind without asking or even making himself known, but Charles has a certain code of conduct that he lives by. Thoughts are a private thing, and he swears to never look into your mind without asking first. He’s spent weeks with you, helping to strengthen your mental shields, so if the day comes that you run into a telepath without his morals, you could keep them at an arm's length. So when Charles makes himself known in your mind and you don’t throw up your shields, he knows that it’s safe for him to proceed.

Charles often reaches out to you throughout the day, and you’ve grown accustomed to having him in your mind. It’s convenient, being able to have a conversation from across the mansion, but it’s also immensely intimate. You spent years of your childhood pushing people away to hide from your mutation, but that now that you’ve found Charles, you don’t hesitate to bare your mind to him.

You’re just beside Charles, rather than out in the garden where you belong, so connecting his mind with yours takes less concentration than usual. He’s able to continue his game and discussion with Erik without a hitch, even as he begins to torment you.

_What are you up to, darling?_

You’re rereading your favorite book, you thought that much was obvious. A simple glance to the left would have been answer enough. Unlike Charles, you weren’t blessed with the ability to multitask. Your mind wanders far too easily, so if you plan on making any progress on your book, it’s going to need your full attention.

_Well, that’s no fun. I never figured you the boring type._

You can almost hear the smugness in his “voice” and you can’t help but roll your eyes. _You don’t get to tell me what is and isn’t fun. Not when you spend your free time playing chess, of all games._

_You’re just upset because you don’t know how to play._

Actually, you do know how to play. You learned back in the sleepy rural town you grew up in, and you can confidently vouch that it’s not any fun. Sure, those little travel-sized sets are entertaining on flights, but that’s really all the game’s good for. There are better ways to kill time.

_Is that so? Do you have any suggestions?_

Like reading, for instance. It takes one’s full attention and isn’t a boring strategy game that takes forever to finish. So, if your terribly clingy boyfriend would excuse you, you would love nothing more than to get back to your book.

It’s not a secret that Charles loves attention, so while he does leave you alone to continue reading, it’s a fairly short lived break. You only get a few pages further before he’s back in your head. But rather than provoking you for a conversation like earlier, it seems like he’s decided on a new way to distract you.

Images of the two of you. The kind that make you hot and bothered. They’re suddenly at the forefront of your mind and it’s not hard to figure whose responsible for that.

You steal a glance up at Charles to see him moving his knight across the board, a slight grin played on his lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you hate him for it.

_Hate is a rather strong word, darling._

_Well, I’m feeling a rather strong emotion. You’re insatiable today, aren’t you?_

_Funny. You said those exact words last night._

Before you have a chance to respond, there’s another image in your head and it’s impossible to ignore. It’s one of you from the night before, laying naked in Charles’ bed, sweaty and panting below him. _“You’re insatiable today, aren’t you?”_ the you from the past hums, hands tangled in Charles’ hair as he kisses bruises onto the soft skin of your shoulder.

You feel your cheeks flush red, and you reach up to readjust the scarf you specifically wore to conceal the hickeys from last night. It takes you a moment to recollect yourself, but once you do, you glare daggers at Charles. If doesn’t knock it off, you’re gonna—

_You’re going to what, darling? Start projecting? What a shame that would be._

Yes, it would be a shame. Because Erik is just across the table from you, and not to sound dramatic, but you would rather jump out of a window than project _this_ onto him.

Just as telepaths can project their thoughts to other people, empaths can project their emotions. It doesn’t happen on accident as much as it used to, but if you’re hit with a particularly strong wave of emotions, you’ve been known to slip up a little. You _really_ don’t want this to be one of those times.

_Then I suppose you should focus less on me and more on keeping yourself together._

That’s much easier said than done, you realize as you find yourself rereading the same sentence over and over again. All that remained of your focus has disappeared, now replaced with irritation (for your boyfriend) and desire (also for your boyfriend).

The next image hits you so hard you’re certain you stopped breathing for a moment. Your knuckles turn white from the death grip you have on your book and you clamp your jaw shut to keep from letting out a moan. It wasn’t anything particularly sultry— just one of the times you fooled around in Charles’ office— but he’s laced the memory with traces of emotion and that seems to have a very _pronounced_ effect on you. Your nerves light up and you can feel the heat and the soft touches as if you were still there. _You did that on purpose, you ass._

 _I have no idea what you’re talking about._ Charles looks over at you for a brief moment before continuing his nonchalant act, pretending like he isn’t driving you mad for his own amusement.

The next image put in your mind is stronger than the last. It’s another from last night, this time of when Charles managed to render you incoherent with pleasure. You can feel the same heat searing into your core, and a moan threatens to escape your lips, but you manage to turn into the crook of your elbow and feign a cough instead.

 _“Charles,"_  you warn, outloud this time.

That catches Erik’s attention, having been the only spoken word you’ve said in quite a while. His gaze shifts from you, to Charles, then back to you. “Did I miss something?”

You don’t need a mirror to know that you look like a flustered mess. Charles, on the other hand, looks absolutely pleased with himself. You smooth your hair back and pretend to be engrossed in your book again. “Just him being an asshole. Nothing out of the ordinary.” If Charles is going to make you look like a hot mess in front of Erik, it’s only fair that you give him the same treatment. Two can play at this game, and you happen to specialize in emotionally-charged projections. You take a breath and focus on projecting a certain image to Charles’ mind— one that hasn’t yet come to fruition. The two of you making out on the same suede sofa you’re sitting on, clothes coming off and going flying in a fervent frenzy.

“She’s tempting— _attempting_ to aggravate me,” Charles stumbles over his words and his face suddenly takes on a red hue. You take that as a sign that your message made it to its destination.

“Freudian slip, darling?” You try and fail to hide the grin on your face. _Karma is such a bitch, isn’t it?_

_You’re terrible._

_You’re the one who started this. I just intend to finish it._

Erik looks over the two of you again, noticing the quickened breathing, flushed skin, and lingering gazes. He clears his throat, “Charles, I suppose we’ll finish this game later?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Most definitely.” Your projection must have done a number on him because Charles is staring at you with a hunger in his eyes. “Close the door on the way out, won’t you?”

Erik escapes the room without another word, and the moment the door clicks shut, Charles is on top of you. You carelessly discard your book to the ground and pull him down by the collar of his shirt, wanting nothing more than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s hot and it’s rushed, and _god_ is it amazing. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close like he’s been starved of you, and you can’t help but melt into his touch.

 _So beautiful. You’re so beautiful,_ he tells you without ever needing to break his lips away from yours.

Your scarf is removed and carelessly discarded as Charles turns his attention to kissing more bruises along your collarbone. If this keeps up, you’re going to need to take a page out of Erik’s book and invest in some turtlenecks.

_Whoever said that you have to hide them? I quite like how they look._

“I’m sure you do,” you say, tilting your head to the side to give him easier access. “But our friends downstairs might have another say on the matter.”

_Well, that just makes me want to put them in more visible places._

Charles’ hand moves to slip under your skirt, but you catch him by the wrist. He pauses his assault on your neck and shifts to look at you, a puzzled look on his face.

“I’m going out today,” you explain. “And I’m not getting undressed just to get dressed again.”

“You didn’t mention that you were going anywhere.”

“And you didn’t mention that you were going to try and embarrass me in front of Erik, so I guess we’re even,” you say. “Raven decided that some time away from the sausage party would do us some good, and I can’t say that I disagree.”

“How long until you leave?”

“A couple hours.”

“Perfect,” Charles says, a grin finding its way to his lips. His hand is back at the hem of your skirt. “There’s plenty we can do without getting undressed.”

* * *

 

You’ve never been a fan of the city. You grew up in a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere, and if you didn’t grow to hate everyone in it, you wouldn’t have minded staying there. But the city— _god_ , do you hate the city. There’s an endless amount of people and somehow all of them seem to be in bad moods (which really isn’t doing you any favors). Your trip out with Raven was sadly cut short because of this, and you’re _just_ a bit upset over that.

It took a grand total of two hours for the stress of it all to overwhelm you. When people with mind powers get overwhelmed, it manifests as a seething migraine. Which sucks. You almost forgot how shitty they were, but— nope— you remember them well, and— yep— you still fucking hate them. You used to get them all the time when you were younger, to the point where you even ended up with a prescription for it. Of course, the meds hardly worked, since no one really knew the actual cause for them, but at least they took the edge off things. Charles was the one to teach you how to tune things out of your mind, and since then, you’ve been practically cured of them. Practically.

Raven took one look at you shielding your eyes from the light and recognized the signs right away. Having grown up with Charles, she knew that it was only going to get worse the longer you were out, so she made the move to cut your shopping time short.

Now you’re lying in one of Charles’ obscenely large bathtubs— the one on the fourth floor, to be specific, and it’s only a matter of time until your meds kick in. You don’t often need to take them, so they’re kept in one of your drawers for safekeeping. Your hair’s tied up, you’re submerged in bubbles, and if your mind didn’t feel like it was trying to kill your body, this would almost be relaxing.

Charles reaches out for your mind, like he always does, but instead of letting him in, you throw up your shields. Nothing against him, but mental stimulation in this situation seems rather counterproductive. You’re already having trouble focusing, and the further away you are from others, the faster this stupid migraine will subside.

You can always tell when Charles is coming your way. Well, to be more specific, you can tell when Charles is nearby. You have a pretty decent range on your mutation and little light bulbs go off in your head whenever someone’s in it. The feeling gets stronger the closer someone gets to you, so you aren’t surprised when Charles turns up in the bathroom with you.

He’s standing over by the sink, leaning on it with his arms crossed lazily. You weren’t particularly looking forward to having company, but Charles is cute. So you guess you’ll let him stay. A smile plays on his lips at that. “You’re projecting.”

Oh, great. That’s just perfect. Your mutation is _really_ kicking your ass today, isn’t it. You close your eyes and let yourself sink down in the water. “Did you come up here to tell me to tone it down?”

“I came up to check on you,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

You’re _really_ tempted to say that you feel like complete and utter shit, but you manage to hold back. You shrug instead. “My brain and eyes are fighting to see who can cause me the most pain, and I can’t tell who’s winning. It’s not very pleasant.”

Charles chuckles a little at that. He comes over and sits on the edge of the tub. “I can imagine.”

A thick silence settles between the two of you and it feels painfully _wrong_. Your conversations are usually split between both verbal and telepathic communications, and with one of those being off the table right now, neither you or Charles really know how to continue forward.

Even without your powers, it’s not hard to see that Charles looks like he wants to say something. You sit up and look up at him. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?” There’s no way he can deny it— it’s written all over his face.

Charles sighs and smooths his hair out of his face. “Telepaths aren’t… common. I’ve met a grand total of two, and you’re the first to be on my side.”

“Empath,” you correct. “Not a telepath.”

“Yes, of course. But you know what I mean. Up until a while ago, I thought I was the only one like this. The voices, the sensory overload, the thinking I was going insane— I went through all of it alone, and it was terrible. Now that I’m here with you, someone who understands what that feels like, I want nothing more than to protect you from going through the same things I went through.”

“Like migraines?”

A small smile finds its way to Charles’ lips. “Like migraines. Though you seem to be doing better that I did on that front. Mine always ended with me getting sick and spending an hour keeled over the toilet.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It was. And it still is. That’s why I worry so much about you. I don’t think I could stand to watch you suffer like I did.”

“Charles,” you slate, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know how much I like you, but I need you to remember that _you_ aren’t responsible for _my_ well being. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself. I _have_ taken care of myself, and I’ve dealt with my mutation for just as long. Sure, it’s nice to have you here to care about me all the time, but just because I’m not as well practiced as you are doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of watching out for myself.”

Charles pauses for a moment. “Alright,” he says, turning his attention back toward you. “But you have to stop trying to take everything on by yourself. Raven told me how you insisted you were fine and refused to let her take you home, despite your obvious migraine.”

“She was the one who offered to take me shopping,” you insist in your defense. “I didn’t want to ruin her day.”

“Exactly what I mean. You’re not a burden, darling, so stop treating yourself like you’re one.”

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but nothing comes out. You don’t really know what to say in response to that. It’s not exactly a secret that you’ve been known to be hard on yourself every now and then, but it’s not like you’re trying to be stubborn. You just… don’t want to be a bother to your friends.

Charles sighs and gets up from his perch on the side of the tub. He grabs a towel from the rack and offers it to you. “Dry off and I’ll relieve some of the stress from your mind.”

“That would just transfer it to you.” There’s no way in hell that you’re gonna let him do that. Your head will stop beating you up in a few hours, and you can definitely hold out until th—

“You’re still projecting. And we _literally_ just talked about this. I want to help you. Let me help you, darling.”

Everything about your being is telling you that you can deal with things alone, but the way Charles is looking at you— you just know that he would do anything for you. “Fine,” you say begrudgingly, taking the towel from him. You get up and step out the bath, wrapping it tight around your body.

Charles pulls you close, one hand at the small of your back and the other softly cupping your cheek. You feel frozen in place under his bright eyes, but when he presses his forehead to yours, you all but melt in his arms. You feel warm and breathless and lightheaded all at the same time, and you don’t even notice the absence of the splitting headache that’s been working your nerves all day.

“Feel better?” Charles asks.

You press a quick kiss to his lips. “Mhm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also, if anyone recognizes where I stole this title from, mad props to you and your music taste!


	2. Chapter 2

You are a morning person. Your boyfriend is not.

Rather than going to bed at a decent time, Charles Xavier makes a habit of staying up far too late and complaining when he has to wake up far too early. You, on the other hand, can’t get anything less than eight hours or you’re bound to be in a terrible mood all day. You go to bed at the same time each night and get up at the same each morning. It’s been that way since you were young, and not even Charles’ horrendous sleep schedule can keep your body clock from ticking.

Which is why it’s so jarring to wake up and find him already getting ready for the day.

Charles is across the bedroom, in the process of buttoning up his shirt in the mirror. His hair is wet and sticking up in all kinds of directions, so you suppose he must have gotten out of the shower recently. He notices you in the mirror’s reflection and smiles warmly at you. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

If you didn’t know better, you would think that your Charles had been replaced with another blindingly handsome man. But you do know better, which means something else is going on. This is Charles we’re talking about— the very same man who had to be dragged out of bed by Raven each morning before you came along to take over the responsibility. 

You don’t even attempt to conceal the growing confusion on your face. “You never get up before me. Why are you up before me?” 

“I woke up at my usual time. You, on the other hand…” He gestures over to the clock on his nightstand. It’s 9:08. You’ve wasted nearly an hour of your day. That’s an entire hour than you can never get back. That’s an hour you could have used to practice your powers, or read, or do literally anything besides sleeping. Charles has training with Sean, and then Moira’s coming over to see the team’s progress and—

_I need you to take a deep breath and calm down, darling._

Alright. Okay. You can totally do that. 

Charles walks over to you, his shirt halfway buttoned, and takes a seat on your side of the bed. He takes your hand in his own and massages his thumb over your knuckles until you unball your fists. “There’s no use working yourself up like this. There’s no harm in sleeping in, and personally, I think you’re overdue for some stress relief.”

“But—”

“No buts. There’s no need to rush.” Charles laces his fingers with yours and looks at you with those pretty blue eyes of his. You’re not strong enough to disagree with those eyes.

“There’s no need to rush,” you repeat, sighing out the tension from your body. “But I still need to get ready.” You lean forward and kiss Charles quick before getting out of bed and starting toward the closet. You need to find something to wear, and since you wore a skirt yesterday, you should probably change it up a bit. You were never one to care much about fashion, but spending so much time around Raven (and Angel before she left) seems to have changed your opinions on that.

You pull a dress off its hanger and turn to get Charles’ feedback to find him perched at the doorway. He’s taken up watching you with a fondness in his eyes, completely abandoning his morning routine. “You’re staring at me.” You state the obvious.

“I’m merely admiring the art.” he responds without a moment’s hesitation. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you are today?”

“I can’t quite remember. Maybe you should compliment me a few extra times just to be sure.” You say, rolling your eyes. You put the dress back on the rack and shift your attention to the one with the checkered print just beside it. 

You don’t notice Charles stalking up behind you until he wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss just under your ear. _No matter what you wear, you’ll still outshine the sun._ His hands slide up your sides, teasing your midriff with soft touches and bunching up the fabric of your pajama shirt. _Though, I do think you would look marvelous without this on._

“We have to get ready.” The words come out of your mouth, but there’s no sternness behind them. His embrace is so warm that you can’t help yourself from leaning into his touches.

“I don’t believe that we do.” 

He’s trying to distract you. You know that he’s trying to distract you, but _god_ is he good at it. “Charles, it’s past nine. The others are waiting for us.”

“We’re already running late, darling. A few more minutes won’t make much of a difference.”

That is a very convincing point. “A few minutes?”

“More or less.” Charles takes your hand in his and you follow him out of the closet, back into the bedroom. “I _did_ say you were overdue for some stress relief.” He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, where you straddle him and tug your shirt off over your head. His arms wrap around your waist, holding you firmly in place as he presses his body against yours. You take his cheeks in your hands and kiss him in a frenzy, savoring the feeling of his warm lips.

You pull back and look at that gorgeous face of his. You would do anything for that face. “I think we can spare a few minutes,” you breathe out. A grin makes its way to his lips and you can’t help yourself from kissing him again.

Needless to say, the two of you spent more than a few extra minutes in bed.

You’re in the kitchen now, Charles’ arms wrapped around you and settled at the small of your back as you sip at his morning cup of coffee. Charles is lovely, and sweet, and absolutely doting on you. Though you can’t deny that you enjoy the attention. Your consciousnesses are intertwined and you can hear every thought from his mind just as quickly as the synapses are firing within it.

He thinks about kissing you.

You tilt your head up and meet his lips with yours for a brief, tender moment. Charles sighs sweetly as you part and he looks at you with those beautiful, decadent eyes of his. You’re an absolute sucker for blue eyes, especially when they belong to someone as handsome as your Charles.

_If I remember correctly, you had a fancy for green eyes when we first met._

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. But what you do know is that you could look into Charles’ eyes for days on end without ever complaining. The corners of his eyes crease with a smile as one makes its way to his lips, and you kiss him once more before untangling yourself from his arms. You have errands to run today, and you were _supposed_ to leave half an hour ago.

Charles is well versed in making you lose your train of thought, his hands always finding their way back to your body to tempt and tease you into madness. With your earlier activities having wound down, he’s resorted to being terribly clingy instead. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, trailing after you as you finish getting the last of your things together for the day. 

He projects an image to your mind— one of you heading up to Raven’s room and borrowing a pair of mittens from her.

You roll your eyes. _Darling, there are better ways to tell me that my hands are cold._

_Well, I won’t be there to help keep your hands warm today._

Wearing mittens in September seems rather dramatic, even for you. Your hands are always cold, just like how Charles’ are always warm. It’s just the way things are. He’s always so warm, which is why you find so much enjoyment in being wrapped up in his arms whenever you get cold. And considering the weather outside, that’s pretty often nowadays. If you had known how chilly New York gets in the fall, you might have reconsidered Charles’ invitation to the mansion. It’s far too late to go back on your decision though, so you’ve just resorted to using him as a living furnace.

You pull your knit sweater overtop of your dress and Charles tucks your hair back into place. _I’ll miss you while I’m gone,_ you tell him.

Charles cups your cheeks and kisses you softly. _Not half as much as I’ll miss you. Being apart from you for so long is absolute torture._

_Don’t be so dramatic. I’ll only be out for a few hours._

_And what a dreadful few hours those will be. I’ll have to think about you just to get through the day._

A teasing smile makes its way to your lips. _What kinds of things will you think about?_

Charles’ hands catch you by the waist and pull you close. You melt in his arms, as per usual, and hook your arms around his neck. He presses his forehead against yours, simply content with having you so close. _I’ll think about how amazing it feels to have you body pressed up against mine like this._ His hands trails down from your waist and settles on your backside, firmly squeezing your ass.

The telltale sound of a throat cleaning brings the two of your from your conjoined thoughts.

You’re in the kitchen. In each others arms. As Sean and Alex eat their breakfast just a few meters away. Have they been there the whole time? You swear you would have noticed if they were there the whole time.

Alex looks dreadfully tired, his hand propping up his head and being the only thing preventing it from hitting the table. “Just a heads up, I’m shooting myself if I have to witness whatever Erik did yesterday.” 

“What?” You pull back from Charles and swat his hand off your ass. “You— you know about that?”

“Do I know about you two nailing in every room you can get your hands on? Of course I know about that. Not like you try to keep it a secret.”

“It’s true,” Sean adds between spoonfuls of cereal. “You two are like rabbits.”

“Kitchen’s off limits. Take it upstairs if you’re gonna go at it again.”

Your face flushes red so quickly that you swear you feel lightheaded. Charles shifts uncomfortably for a moment before reeling his mind back from yours— _shit,_ you must be projecting again. Not like he can blame you for it, your friends are _very_ aware of your sex life and that is a _horrible_ realization to have. Have the two of you really been making it that obvious?

He crosses his arms over his chest and takes on a rather stern tone with them. “Need I remind you that this is _my_ family’s estate—”

“And this is my breakfast,” Alex interrupts. “Thanks, but I’d like to keep my appetite.”

Charles opens his mouth to respond again, but you put your hand on his shoulder to steal his attention. If this discussion is to go, you would _much_ rather you not be here for it. “I should be heading out soon. Walk me to the door?”

You’re certain that he gets the idea and that he’s restraining himself until after you leave to have some choice words with Alex and Sean, but he walks you to the door nonetheless. You release a breath and close your eyes for a moment to try and get a reign on your mind.

“You’re—”

“Projecting,” you say. “Believe me, I’m painfully aware.”

“Well, I was actually going to say that you’re adorable when you’re focusing, but I suppose both are true.”

You wrap your arms around Charles and rest your head on his shoulder. He tangles his hand in your hair and holds you close. _Don’t stress yourself too much today, alright? Promise me you’ll come home if you get overwhelmed._

With your migraine from yesterday, that’s probably a good idea. But you can’t help yourself from teasing Charles for always worrying about others. _Don’t be such a worrywart. I’ll be fine._

_Well, worrying is what I do best. I’m very good at it._

You roll your eyes, but agree to his terms nonetheless. You hug him one more time and give him one more quick kiss before saying goodbye and heading out for the day.

 

* * *

 

You know what, now that you think about it, your constant bad moods might just be the result of you leaving the mansion without Charles. It’s not that you miss him— which you do— that gets you upset. It’s the fact that your mind feels so utterly alone when he’s not there to accompany you. Raven is a fan of her privacy, so you had to constantly keep your mind from wandering too far when you were out with her yesterday— but at least that was better than nothing. You were around someone familiar, someone you trust.

You’re gone for three hours before you make the decision to head back home. It breaks your previous record, but that’s mostly because you were in a less crowded area this time. That’s one of the perks of living in Westchester— you’re far enough from the city to avoid the constant hustle and bustle. But even outside of the city, finding parking is a nearly impossible feat. You had to walk most of the way to your destination, and now you’re taking a shortcut through a park to get back to your car.

There are all types of minds swarming yours as you walk— the children running around in the grass, the poor parents tasked with watching them, and the ones like you who are just cutting through. You steady your breath and focus on keeping your mental shields up. It’s much harder when there are so many minds to shield against, but you manage to ignore them for the most part. That is, until one of them cuts through your barrier and fills you with a deep, _chilling dread_. You feel it as distinctly as you would feel a punch in the gut, and you stop in your tracks from the sheer shock of it.

You lose yourself for a moment. You blank on where you are and what you’re doing— the only thing you know is this pain permeating inside of you. It takes you another moment to ground your wandering mind, but you do and you realize that there’s a woman just in front of you, trying to get your attention.

“Are you feeling alright? You look pale.” 

“I’m fine. I just… felt sick for a moment.” It takes a bit of convincing, but she eventually leaves your side and continues on her way. You, on the other hand, set out to find the source of this— this _pain_ It’s like a game of hot and cold, but much less fun, and you get colder the closer you get to your goal.

You’re ice cold when you see him. There’s a man sitting on a bench— the kind of man that the mothers pull their children away from and tell them to avoid on the street. It’s already chilly out, but when the clouds blow over and cover up the sun, the temperature drops even more. The playground starts clearing out, but the man still sits there, shivering and trying to shield himself from the winds. People see him and scurry past without a second thought, but you don’t have that kind of blissful ignorance. Not when you know his pain as if it were you own. You can _feel_ his hopelessness and despair. He’s hurting, and by extension, you are as well.

You dig through your purse and put together enough cash to afford a nice meal. In this weather, god knows he should need it.

He sees your generous offering and takes your hand in both of his in a gesture of his thanks. “God bless you, miss.” He speaks softly and kindly, but you hardly process the words. Your hand has gone ice cold and your heart feels heavy in your chest. You have to bite your tongue to keep from breaking into tears in front of him. 

Your powers get stronger the closer you are to someone, but physical contact is an entirely different thing. It’s undiluted, it’s raw, and _fuck_ does it hurt. You force a smile at the man before pulling your hand away, hopefully not seeming rude for doing so. The last thing you want to do is come off as rude to someone you harbor no ill will for. 

It’s an uneventful drive back home, but you can’t deny the fact that your mind was wandering more often than usual. You can’t stop thinking about that man. How deep his pain was, how much it was eating at him from the inside. Are you a bad person for not helping him more? You’re terrible at focusing on more than one thing at a time, so you attempt to push the thoughts from your mind, but they keep finding their way back.

You could have given him more money. Hell, you could have bought him a meal yourself and spoken with him. You could have done so much more to help him. You try to justify your actions by telling yourself that being around him any longer would have had a negative effect on your mental state, but he must be hurting more than you ever will. Those emotions _belong_ to him, he’s not just eavesdropping and pitying someone else like you are. God, you live in a fucking mansion— you shouldn’t be feeling sorry for yourself, not when there are so many people in this world that have it so much worse than you.


End file.
